


Flaunt It

by kedgeree



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Love Bites, M/M, Romance, silliness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-05
Updated: 2013-04-05
Packaged: 2017-12-07 14:21:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/749498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kedgeree/pseuds/kedgeree
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock visits a crime scene with evidence of a different sort visible on his neck.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flaunt It

**Author's Note:**

> I've been debating and debating about bringing this wee fic over from tumblr, and finally decided "what the hell."
> 
> It was written January 2013 for lenayuri in the tumblr johnlockchallenges grab bag gift exchange. Prompt: “It’s too obvious. Don’t you think, John?”

John rolled over with a deeply contented groan and lay panting beside Sherlock, who lay panting beside him. He was flushed and sticky and trembling with echoes of pleasure. The night before last, John thought he was the happiest he could ever be, with Sherlock’s lips pressed softly, questioningly to his and Sherlock’s fingers fumbling awkwardly over his skin. But he was wrong, because last night when he coaxed his own name from Sherlock’s throat in a raw, loud, shaking moan, that must surely have been the happiest it was possible for him to be. But then there was tonight….

“John,” Sherlock gasped. “That was…that was….”

“Oh, God, it  _was_ ,” John groaned and curled himself around Sherlock,  _his_ Sherlock, nuzzled his nose into Sherlock’s hair, kissed his temple, kissed his ear, kissed his shoulder, kissed his cheek, kissed and kissed.

 _This_  was the happiest anyone could ever be.

+++

John hummed to himself as he poured freshly-boiled water into two mugs for tea. They were to meet Lestrade at the scene of a break-in, and it looked like it was going to be a beautiful day for it. The sitting room was already brightened by sunlight filtering in through the sheer window panels, highlighting lazily drifting dust motes. The kitchen floor under John’s bare feet felt pleasantly cool, but not cold. He was placing the mugs on the kitchen table when he heard Sherlock’s muffled voice calling from the bathroom.

“John? Would you join me a moment, please?” Sherlock’s tone was a blatant parody of politeness.

John’s eyebrows rose, but he set the tea mugs down, crossed into the hallway, and opened the bathroom door. A little puff of warm steam escaped. He blinked at Sherlock, whose dark curls were still dripping water onto his naked shoulders, down his chest, into the white towel wrapped around his slim hips. He was glaring at his own reflection in a patch of the mirror he had wiped clear of post-shower condensation. John slipped in behind him, standing on his toes to peer over Sherlock’s shoulder into the mirror. “What’s wrong?”

Sherlock pointed dramatically at his throat, where a fairly large, vivid purple mark stood out against his pale skin.

“Oh!” John beamed and wrapped his arms around Sherlock’s waist, pressing his cheek against the warm, wet skin of his back. “It looks…good. Matches your shirt.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and sighed. “It’s too obvious. Don’t you  _think_ , John? Couldn’t you have chosen a less visible spot to….”

“Leave my mark?” John stroked Sherlock’s belly with the flats of his palms and felt Sherlock press into his touch, arching his back slightly.

“I wasn’t going to wear that shirt today,” Sherlock muttered petulantly.

John raised his head to look over Sherlock’s shoulder again. He let his hand drift up so his fingertips could brush Sherlock’s throat. “Sherlock,” he said gently, “You’re not actually embarrassed, are you?”

“No!” Sherlock denied indignantly. “I don’t care what people think.” There was a glimmer of uncertainty in his eyes, though.

John gave him a hard, protective hug. “What they’re going to think is that someone must love you. Very much.” He stepped back with a parting kiss to Sherlock’s shoulder. “Now I’ve got to go change my shirt. You’ve gotten it all wet.” He smiled warmly and left Sherlock standing there, blinking.

+++

Sherlock glanced surreptitiously at John out of the corner of his eye and then leant forward slightly, pulling the collar of his purple shirt away from his throat, trying to catch his reflection in the window of the cab.

John turned his head away so Sherlock wouldn’t see him trying to hide his smile.

+++

“I know this isn’t up to your usual standards, Sherlock, but the Linleys  _are_  a high-profile case, even though it’s just a…” Lestrade trailed off and stood with his mouth slightly open, distracted by the mark on Sherlock’s throat…again. This was the fourth time he had apparently lost his train of thought. His eyes flickered from Sherlock to John to Sherlock, and he licked his lips.

John, listening patiently from the corner of the room, ducked his head and smirked.

Sherlock tilted his chin up and took a gliding step toward the full length window of the Linleys’ library, so that he was standing in a brightly flattering ray of sunlight. He turned slightly so the sun caught his face and throat, illuminating the mark there. “Yes, it would at first glance appear to be a simple break-in. To you.” Sherlock said smugly. “Obviously that’s not exactly what it is, though.”

“Alright. What is it, then?” Lestrade cocked his head expectantly.

“Look at what he took,” Sherlock said, turning from the window to stalk across the room, gesturing at the book and artefact-lined shelves. “A set of books with shiny matching leather covers. A random assortment of porcelain figurines.” He turned to face Lestrade, pausing to run a finger thoughtfully over his collarbone, scratching a nail ever-so-distractedly up and down the column of his throat. “And look at what he left behind. A framed,  _easily_ -portable antique coin collection. Marble and gilt bronze table clock. A Staunton ivory chess set, for God’s sake.”

John’s eyes drifted to Sally Donovan, standing in uncharacteristic silence behind Lestrade. She had not spoken a word since her customary greeting of “Hello, f—” had died on her lips as Sherlock strode onto the scene with his head flung proudly back so far John was surprised he could walk without tripping over anything. Her expression had frozen somewhere in between laughter and dismay and had not altered yet. John expected that she wouldn’t be feeling quite as defensive about the state of her knees in future, though.

“The theft was a diversion, with very little thought put into making it look realistic,” Sherlock scoffed. “His real purpose for the break-in was to leave something behind.  _This_  something.” He pointed at a small but rather garish mirrored box nestled in the corner of one shelf.

Lestrade snapped on a pair of rubber gloves and picked up the box. He opened the lid and exhaled a breath of laughter. “Camera! How did you—?”

“Look at the dust pattern around it,” Sherlock shrugged. He leant toward the box in Lestrade’s hands and spoke distinctly. “A clearly  _inept_  attempt at a spot of corporate espionage. There will be a microphone as well, of course.”

John grinned.

“Well!” Sherlock turned and stretched languidly, drawing his shoulders back and turning his chin to the side so the line of his throat was dramatically elongated. “If that’s all?”

“That’s all, I suppose!” Lestrade clapped Sherlock amiably on the shoulder. “Thanks and, um, you two enjoy the rest of your day.” He tossed a leering, cheeky grin at John.

“Ta,” John grinned back cheerfully, winking at Sally as they walked out. “I’ll do my best.”

+++

“You’re shameless, you know that, don’t you?” John teased Sherlock as they crossed the Linleys’ front garden in the direction of the street. “No such thing as ‘too obvious’ now, is there?”

Sherlock cast John a wicked look and grabbed him by the elbow, steering them off the crunchy white pebble pathway and behind the trunk of a large chestnut tree.

“What—?”

Sherlock wrapped his arms around John and lowered his head to brush his mouth just under John’s ear. “You’re getting one, too,” he murmured huskily, dropping his hands to cup John’s arse and pull him closer. “Right now.”

“Oh, am I?” John pressed into Sherlock, cocking his head eagerly to the side to let Sherlock’s tongue tease the sensitive skin on the side of his neck.

“Mmm,” Sherlock’s voice rumbled against his throat and John swayed into the sound. “I want people to think that someone must love you, too.” Sherlock nipped at him. ” _Very_  much.” As Sherlock sealed his mouth to John’s throat, hungrily, fiercely, John clutched at Sherlock’s shoulders and groaned.

No. This. Right now. This was the happiest anyone could be. John was certain of it.

 


End file.
